Agnes enters her husband’s old study. She doesn’t go in there much anymore – too many memories, too many emotions. It’s been hard enough as it is.
But she needs to make a photocopy, something for those fools at the insurance company. At this rate, she’ll be dead too before they finally reimburse her.
Agnes places the paper on the glass, presses the big green button. One copy is all she needs but ends up with an extra, a quirk the machine developed right after Nathan passed.
A smile comes. She may be alone, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.
The Weekday One Hundred 